


Alternate Means of Travel

by jacksqueen16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bottom Dean, Car Sex, Craigslist, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Impala Sex, M/M, Missed Connection, Non-Hunter Winchesters, Sex in the Impala, Sex with a stranger, Top Castiel, feathers - Freeform, sort of public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/pseuds/jacksqueen16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What. The fuck. Are you doing.”</p><p>“Um...so I was gonna post a missed connections ad on Craigslist, but I think your mystery man beat me to it.” </p><p>“What?” Dean grabbed the laptop and spun it toward him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Means of Travel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C_Diva (thecollective)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my girl, the Collectiva Diva! I love you! Enjoy your smut avalanche. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Warning: our characters aren't terribly concerned with safe sex in this story. Shame on them. Use condoms, kids!

_London, England_

Dean hated the train. Dean wanted Baby back. Dean didn't want to be where people drove on the wrong side of the road and where you got smashed in the corner on the tube if you didn't drive. Everything about England was wrong, and he wanted to go the fuck home.

 _You love your brother._ He had to keep reminding himself of that as he shuffled onto the train at Charing Cross. _You love your brother, and he's smart enough to be here._ Sammy had scored an interview at Oxford, and had refused to take it unless Dean went across the pond with him. Dean had resisted as long as he could (planes = not good), but eventually Sam's puppy dog eyes had gotten the best of him. Dean should have known that the trip would not only include the stuff at Oxford, but a good deal of sightseeing that he wasn't terribly interested in. So far, the best part about England were the pubs and the ghost tours. He couldn't bring himself to vocalize that to Sammy, however. Sam was starry-eyed, in wonder at the sheer amount of history and culture that England was steeped in.

There were two seats left in the car, and Dean sat down immediately. It was the first time he'd had a chance to sit on the tube since arriving in London from Oxford two days prior, and he had half a mind to just keep the seat and not get off until the train reached its last stop. Settling in for the short commute, Dean pulled out his phone.

He had just finished the pirate world of Plants vs. Zombies 2 when he noticed the man. Tall, brunette, wearing a wrinkled trenchcoat, and carrying a dripping umbrella, he stepped onto the train and promptly began staring at Dean. Or was it the empty seat next to Dean? Dean tried not to think about it. The man was gorgeous, and the last thing Dean wanted was to end up a blushing, turned on mess in the middle of the Bakerloo line.

"Please mind the closing doors," came the voice over the intercom, and the man stepped forward to take a seat. He was cautious about the amount of space he took up, sitting with his legs pressed together and his umbrella directly in front of him. He was a curious mixture of grace and unease, and Dean let his eyes slide over to him.

The man’s head wasn’t turned, but his eyes were on Dean in his peripheral vision. Dean flushed and went back to killing zombies. As the train zoomed forward, the man seemed to relax slightly in his seat. His legs relaxed slightly, nearly bumping Dean. One hand held the umbrella, while the other settled on his knee. Dean should have been planting pea-shooters, but found himself watching the stranger’s hand. It was mere centimeters away, and Dean knew that if the setting was a bar back home instead of a busy train, he would have taken that to mean the man was interested. The man’s long, elegant fingers twitched, fanning out toward Dean’s own knee.

 _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Dean told himself as he started the level over. The seats on the train were small and cramped. The man probably didn’t mean anything by it. He’d had a long day, by the look of him. There were bags under his blue eyes, and he held onto the umbrella like he wanted to use it as a pillow.

Two stops later, as those who were standing rearranged themselves to make room for newcomers, the man’s knee brushed against Dean’s. And stayed there. Dean considered moving his own legs closer together. It was the polite thing to do, right? Part of the unspoken rules that he and Sam had discovered? You weren’t supposed to touch other people on the tube unless the train was so packed that you didn’t have a choice. You weren’t supposed to hog the poles or the handrails, you gave up your seat for older people, and you didn’t make eye contact. But the man’s knee was hard against his own, and Dean could feel the heat of his skin through both their layers of clothing.

He didn’t move his leg. He thought about pressing in closer. If he did, maybe the stranger would clutch his knee instead, move his hand up Dean’s leg, pin him under his startling blue gaze—

“The next station is Marylebone.”

 The automated voice snapped Dean out of his trance. He realized with a modicum of dread that he was half hard from his momentary fantasy. He shifted minutely in his seat and tried to think about grandmas and puppies and anything except the handsome stranger whose knee was still pressed firmly to his. His arousal waned enough for him stand as the train pulled into Marylebone station. As he pocketed his phone and wound his way around other passengers toward the nearest door, he felt the man watching him, his eyes like pinpricks of fire on the back of Dean’s neck.

He chanced one look behind him as the doors opened. The man had both hands on his umbrella again, a wide, knowing smile on his lips that twisted up into a smirk. 

#

_Stanford, CA_

“What’s up with you?”

Dean looked up from his burger. “In-N-Out is not a time for conversation, Sammy,” he said. “Or did you forget that we don’t have these in Kansas?”

Sam took a sip from his soda as Dean continued the assault on the double-double. “You’ve been weird since we came back from England. Tell me.”

“Nuffing,” Dean mumbled around a bite of burger. “Hmm ffine.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Seriously Dean.”

Dean finished chewing and wiped his mouth. “We’re not here to talk about me, Sammy. We came here to check out Stanford. We should be weighing options, right? Do you like California better than Oxford, or Connecticut?”

“I won’t be able to make the right decision when I know you’re preoccupied. Spill.”

Dean took in Sam’s expression, and crumpled up the napkin in his hand. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

He sighed. “There was this guy.”

“You met someone?!” Sam’s entire face lit up, and Dean shook his head.

“Not exactly.”

“Okay…”

“That day you went to that one bookstore and I was supposed to meet you, I was on the tube, and I had like...this weird connection with the guy sitting next to me. That’s it. No biggie.”

Sam grinned. “That’s it? I doubt it, Dean. You’ve been all distracted since we came back. You still think about him, is that it?”

“There’s nothing to think about, Sammy. Nothing happened. He was just cute, okay?” Dean growled, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“Well, there’s a way to fix this, you know,” Sam said, reaching under the table to pull his laptop from his messenger bag. He flipped it open and began typing before stopping suddenly. His face pulled into an obscenely happy smile.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing.”

“Um...so I was gonna post a missed connections ad on Craigslist, but I think your mystery man beat me to it.”

“What?” Dean grabbed the laptop and spun it toward him.

_I have heard of the high success rate of posting advertisements in this manner and hope this is not too forward. We interacted briefly on the Bakerloo Underground line. We were seated adjacent to each other. I wore a trenchcoat and carried a black umbrella. You wore plaid, jeans, and had black aviators nestled in your auburn hair. I assume you are American. If you would like to further our socialization, I believe Craig can help us._

“What kind of guy is this, Dean?” Sam laughed. “Nestled. He used the word nestled.”

Dean reached up to his sunglasses, yanking them off the top of his head. “Shut up.”

“Are you gonna answer the ad?”

Dean read over the paragraph again. It was awkwardly phrased and not sexy at all, but it seemed like just the sort of thing the stranger who seemed so out of place on the busy train would write. He remembered how the man had perched in his seat so tensely at first before finally settling in. His back had been stiff, his hands gripping the wet umbrella like a lifeline. He had looked tired and uncomfortable—until he had smirked at Dean, his eyes lit up with mischief.

Dean reached down to his right knee, where he still felt the phantom heat of the stranger against him. “Yeah I think I will, Sam.”

#

Baby never minded when Dean was nervous. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, striking a disjointed rhythm. He didn’t know why he was so high-strung. This wasn’t the first time he’d met up with someone he didn’t know from Adam. He’d had more anonymous sex than he cared to admit. But there was something different about the man from the train.

Dean had dropped Sam off at a mixer for potential Stanford students earlier in the evening before taking the Impala to be washed. He always felt more confident about himself when he knew that Baby was sparkling. But that had been two hours ago. Now, waiting for the man who called himself Castiel Novak outside the Oasis Beer Garden, apprehension crawled over him like a swarm of mosquitos. He itched with anxiousness, and was tempted more than once to leave before the stranger ever arrived.

It was curiosity that kept him there, he decided. What sort of man would come all the way from England for him?

A tentative knock on the glass jolted a loud “SHIT” from him. He twisted toward the window, his chest feeling like a balloon that might pop. The stranger—Castiel—stood outside the car, one hand raised in the air, poised to knock again. Dean took a deep breath and opened the door as Castiel moved to the side. He wore the same trenchcoat, but the suit underneath was crisp and new.

“Um...hey,” Dean said gruffly.

“Hello Dean Winchester,” said Castiel, his own voice much deeper than Dean had imagined. He was not British. “I hope I did not frighten you.”

The door clicked shut behind Dean as he leaned against it, his hands plunged deep into his pockets. Lighten up, for fuck’s sake. “I, uh...just didn’t see you get here.” He glanced around the parking lot, trying to remember the last car he’d seen drive up. “What do you drive?”

Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the other vehicles scattered around the lot. “I did not drive myself here. I have...alternate means of travel.”

“Oh. Okay,” Dean tried to swallow down his nervousness. “So, uh—”

“I did not think you wanted me here for small talk,” interrupted Castiel, his eyes suddenly seeming much bluer than they had been a moment ago. They bored into Dean, and he had never felt more naked in his life. “Am I mistaken?” He stepped forward, his arms braced against the Impala on either side of Dean.

“No,” Dean whispered. There was no time to think before the man leaned forward and captured his lips in a soft kiss. He moaned.

Castiel pulled his mouth away. “Is this what you wanted?” he murmured, shifting ever closer, trapping Dean against the car. He moved to clutch Dean’s wrists, pulling his hands from the safety of his pockets. “Is this what you wanted that day on the train?”

“I—yes.”

Castiel crashed their lips together again, and Dean grabbed at his arms, anchoring himself. His mouth opened under Castiel’s and he let the other man take control of the kiss. Castiel’s hands were everywhere, as quick as his kiss was languid. He kissed both harshly and unhurriedly, leaving Dean’s mind spinning.

The man was was hot against Dean, his entire body burning as though he had a fever, and Dean gasped against his mouth when Castiel reached down to touch his cock through his jeans. The warmth burned through him, and he was suddenly harder than he’d ever been. “What was it you wanted?” Castiel growled, palming Dean roughly.

“This,” Dean exclaimed, his fingers curving into claws against the smooth fabric of the trenchcoat. He leaned forward and latched his mouth onto Castiel’s neck. He whimpered against the man’s salty skin as he gripped his cock.

“This, what?” Castiel insisted.

“You, touching me. Please,” Dean whimpered, not caring how desperate he sounded. He licked the spot he had kissed and Castiel shivered.

“That can be arranged,” Castiel said, sounding as turned on as Dean felt. He heard the rear door pop open, and then he was tumbling back onto the back seat. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there so quickly without hitting his head on the door jam, and he briefly considered asking, but then Castiel was on top of him, and the door was closed, and he didn’t care.

Castiel’s hands framed his face gently for a moment before the touch turned rough again. Hands grasped and teeth nibbled, and Dean couldn’t tell who was more excited. Their clothes fell away, as quickly as they can in the back seat of a car, and then Cas was moving, half kneeling in the cramped floorspace, and Dean wasn’t sure if there would be room—then Castiel’s mouth was on his cock and he couldn’t think about anything else.

The man licked teasingly up and down the shaft before opening his mouth all the way and taking Dean in as far as he could. Dean gasped when he felt himself hit the back of Castiel’s throat, where the man hummed. Vibrations echoed through Dean, and his legs quivered with the effort not to come. “Not yet, not yet,” he heard someone muttering. Was it him? He wanted to come with this man buried balls deep in him, not from a few moments in his mouth. The wet heat on his aching dick was suddenly gone as Castiel moved up his body, scorching against him.

“I had the same thought,” Castiel whispered in his ear, and Dean shuddered. “That day on the train. You looked at me with those big green eyes and I wanted to rip your clothes off and fuck you into oblivion. Into eternity. Show you true ecstasy. Show you what mankind is truly capable of feeling.”

Dean didn’t know what he was talking about, with oblivion and eternity and mankind, but fuck it sounded amazing and he just needed.

“More,” he said, grasping at the man above him. His hands gripped at the too-warm skin, and he felt like he couldn’t get close enough. He reached down and stroked Castiel’s heavy cock, watching his fingers slide against the slick foreskin, shiny with sweat and precum.

“Yes,” agreed Castiel, panting. “Turn over.”

Dean didn’t remember turning over, but then he was on his knees in the small back seat of the Impala, where he and Sam had played as children. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and Sam wasn’t there. Castiel was. Castiel had his hand pressed against Dean’s hole, and as he probed and flicked,  Dean thought of the train, when he had admired those long fingers. He had imagined them gripping him, sliding into him, but had never thought—

“Argh!” He groaned at the sudden wetness against his hole. He didn’t know if it was lube or spit, but he didn’t care. Castiel’s fingers slid in easily, reaching and rotating. Dean propped one hand up against the window, and reached his other hand down to rub frantically at his leaking cock. “Please,” he begged. “Please fuck me. Please, Castiel.”

“That is the plan,” murmured Castiel as he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock. He shoved into Dean in one swift motion.

Dean gasped as the mixture of pleasure and pain. It had been a long time since he’d been stretched that much, and the tight ring of muscle at his rim protested. He hissed as Castiel began to move slowly. The pain slowly dissipated into glorious pressure, building deep in his belly, at the tips of his fingers and toes.

With one pass, Castiel brushed against his prostate, and Dean swore he saw stars. “Oh God,” he whimpered. “Do that again.”

“I am not He, but I believe I understand the comparison,” Castiel grunted as he moved faster, hitting Dean’s prostate with nearly each thrust.

Castiel wrapped himself around Dean as much as he could, his chest pressed against his back, their sweat mingling. He reached around where his hips slapped against Dean’s ass and put his hand over Dean’s. “Together,” he said as they worked his cock faster. Their fingers slid between each others, until Dean wasn’t sure whose hand was whose.

It was only a few more strokes before Dean was trembling, his knees sliding against the seat. “I—I—” his attempt at articulation was cut short by the streams of cum that shot from him, milked by Castiel’s insistent fingers. He let go of his cock, bracing himself with both hands against the seat beneath him as Castiel continued to stroke until there was nothing left.

“Can you...can you...” he wanted—no, needed—Castiel to come with him. He needed this moment to be shared, drawn out, remembered by more than just him.

“Yes,” Castiel gasped, but it was in a language that Dean had never heard before. The man shook behind him as he came with two last hard thrusts. He collapsed on top of Dean, pushing him down into the leather seat. Dean tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving in time with Castiel’s. His vision was blurred, but not from tears or exhaustion—then there was nothing but darkness and a lingering euphoria. He floated.

When Dean woke, he was curled up in the back seat, wearing his clothes. He jolted up, searching for Castiel. He was alone.

“What the fuck?” his voice sounded hollow in the nearly empty Impala. He felt in his pocket. There were his car keys, where he had put them when Castiel had shown up. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window. It had to be later. Much later, going by the amount of cars left in the parking lot. He checked his cell phone. “Dude, where are you?” said Sam’s last text message, sent ten minutes before.

As he moved to get in the front seat, he felt the evidence of his escapade with Castiel. He was sore in all the right places, and he knew he would think of the stranger every time he sat down for the next day or two. As Baby purred to life, he glanced at the passenger seat. A single black feather lay in the center.

Dean picked it up, and found it warm to the touch. He closed his eyes and heard a whisper in his ear, like something from a childhood dream. “I will return, Dean Winchester. I will come for you.”


End file.
